


Out of Her Shell

by TheObsidianWarlock



Category: Supergirl (TV 2015), Superman - All Media Types
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-22
Updated: 2016-02-22
Packaged: 2018-05-22 13:37:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6081363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheObsidianWarlock/pseuds/TheObsidianWarlock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cat’s vindictive! Kara’s angry! Maxwell Lord is sneaky! And Lex Luthor always wins…</p>
            </blockquote>





	Out of Her Shell

**Author's Note:**

> Ever since the promo’s for Ep. 14, the urge to write in first person Angry!Kara was too strong to ignore. Hopefully the tone comes off correctly. Set milliseconds before ep. 14. It’s not my first fan fiction ever, but it’s un-beta’ed, so please be gentle. Also, Canadian spelling.

# Chapter 1: Eruption

# 

 

My first real lesson with Cat Grant came as she asked me what I thought of the new magazine proofs. We were one day from publication, and I’d never been witness to such an intense flurry of motion as a dissatisfied, furious Cat.

 

The conversation went thusly:

 

_“That … Looks nice?”_

_Cat scoffs at me. “Are you asking me or telling me, Kiera?”_

_Ugh…_ Kiera _. I’m past trying to correct her, but still so not used to that. Who goes out of their way to demean their employee?_

_Anyways: Straighten up, make eye contact._

_“Um… Telling, Miss Grant.”_

_“Good.” She sniffs. “Also, wrong.” Turning the proofs around, she taps the rather large margin. “A quarter-inch of wasted space here; this picture choice is possibly the worst of the options they had with no movement or eye-catching qualities…”_

_On and on the ‘lesson’ goes. I memorize every tidbit in an effort to reduce the butterflies gnawing at my stomach. Cat Grant is a self-made success story in media, and working under her, even just as a verbally-abused assistant, is a privilege – at least the brochure says so. She was one of the few people who could hold her own against Lois Lane and my cousin, Clark._

_“In the end, Kiera, there’s no risk in this.”_

_“No risk?”_

_“Exactly. It’s cautious. Drab. Boring. Garbage.” Cat tosses the proofs back on her desk. “It’ll never sell; we’ll maybe even lose subscribers.” I straighten up again as she looks me in the eye. “Everything that succeeds takes risks to do so. ‘No risk, no reward’ isn’t just some trite little truism – it’s our livelihood.”_

_“Yes, Miss Grant.”_

_“It’s your livelihood too, Kiera.” She flicks a finger at my sweater. “If you don’t come out of your shell a little, you’ll spend your entire career fetching coffee.”_

 

Ouch, right? 

 

Because I loved that cardigan. It was soft and warm and comfy and smelled of home. It was safe. To Cat, safe is boring; and even back then, I was very, very invested in what Cat thought of me.

 

The bustle of National City is fifteen minutes behind me now, lost to the night and the rush of wind. Ahead of me, the bombastic loudness of Metropolis approaches. I’ve been accelerating non-stop since I took off, which would put me … Fifteen times the speed of sound right now? And that’s assuming that I know my rate of acceleration, which I don’t really; I’m going on feel from earlier tests with Alex. Big sis had an accelerometer strapped to me, among other things. Always with the training and the tests…

 

Still: National City to Metropolis is roughly 2770 miles; traveling that far in fifteen minutes puts me at 11,080 miles per hour, or Mach 14.4. Take into consideration that I was slower at the start and haven’t stopped accelerating, and I’m way over Mach 15 by now.

 

Yay, math!

 

Hmm. My inner nerd is showing. But until I was thirteen and Krypton blew up, I was heavy into the sciences and math, stuff way beyond all but the most advanced minds on Earth, and using equations and models quite a bit more accurate than current Earth science. Keeping a low profile also meant keeping that information to myself. So where else am I going to indulge my education but with my own abilities?

 

Not powers. _Abilities_. Kryptonian physical abilities, for which I have specialized organs that no non-Kryptonian has ever seen or named before now. But that’s not how everyone sees it here. Here, I’m ‘human’ with ‘kewl powerz.’ If my ‘powerz’ fail due to overuse, I’m ‘just human’ – as in, no longer Kryptonian; as though my identity was tied to being able to fly. Everyone treats me like that; it’s a subtle racism that I’ve resigned myself to put up with, because everyone does it. Even Alex does it.

 

Even Clark does it, and he’s _Superman._

 

For sigh.

 

I start to decelerate as I reach the outskirts of Metropolis. A couple of gland-like organs in my torso expand slightly, exactly in the manner I’d imagine a pilot cuts back on the throttle, maybe even lowering the wing flaps. Clark’s biorhythms start to register to my senses, and I home in on them. 

 

Once I drop below the sound barrier, it’s time to check in. “Alex, you copy?”

 

“Copy. You’ve made it to Metropolis?”

 

“Obviously. I’m maybe a minute from C—Superman.” Duh, Kara! No names on open airwaves!

 

“Okay. Our satellites are about ninety seconds from alignment. Try not to start the fireworks before we have visual, alright?”

 

I’m interrupted before I can answer: A seven-foot-tall robot, all purple, green and weapons racks, slams straight into me, built-in Tasers delivering a Livewire-class jolt. I respond with a right hook; even shaky, that’s enough force to send it tumbling through the air until its jets can right it. 

 

“That might be a problem, Alex. I’ve already engaged.”

 

“Shit! What’s the enemy?” Alex’s voice is mostly static. Guess this earbud’s seen its last mission.

 

“Rich Man’s War Machine, what else?”

 

“Right,” Alex grumps on the other side. “Still waiting on visuals.”

 

As the robot accelerates for another pass, I quickly scan it – and surprise, surprise, I can’t. It’s not lead that’s stopping my sight, though. It’s actually something heavier: The entire outer shell is depleted uranium armour plates.

 

Well, then.

 

I dodge the predictable missile salvo and pull a tight loop around it to avoid the Tasers, pouring my momentum into an axe handle slam on the thing’s back. I dent the armour, but not much else. It’ll hit the ground and be right back. I got what I wanted, though: The thing is solid as can be; if there was a human pilot, it would have felt hollow. 

 

Feeling safe now, I charge up the laser cannons and get to work – first the arms, then the missile racks. Each cut takes a couple of seconds to make – stupid armour – but I can literally fly rings around this thing, so it’s not too big a challenge. The fact that it’s completely focused on me makes things easier. No casualties, no falling building debris, just a mid-air duel that ends in little robot pieces raining down onto the empty street below. 

 

I hear the cheers from onlookers, and smile for them. It looked easy, but it really wasn’t. Slicing through tank armour so quickly takes more than just a light show, and just like that something like half my battery's gone. I won that fight like a boss to the folks around me, but I know the truth: I can’t do that again.

 

<<I lack the energy to defeat another construct, Kal-El.>> My voice carries to Clark's ear, and he nods in my direction.

 

<<Help the people, then. I will finish this.>>

 

I suppress a snort at his atrocious Kryptonese. He sounds exactly like he learned it from a ‘for dummies’ guide, which he basically did. Still, it’s enough for us to speak without fear of being understood. Alex can speak a little, and my foster-mom Eliza knows a few words. James Olsen and Lois Lane might, too. That’s about it, though.

 

I take a second to fan girl a little at Clark, who’s slicing up something like five of those things. Every single burst of his heat vision is putting out more power than I have to give on a full charge. One day, I’ll have those kinds of reserves. One day.

 

Kryptonians have full spectrum, extreme focus vision – a very nice way to summarize the dozens of different things we can do with our eyes. That vision can be passive, like everyone else, or active – as in emitting photons of whatever wavelength we like. Usually it’s infrared and visible light – thus, ‘heat vision.’ But we can take it a notch up if we need to, firing into X-Ray and Gamma-Ray wavelengths and even adding kinetic force to the beam, the same way we generate our flight and speed.

 

But firing energy out my eyeballs takes a lot of power. Sometimes too much; the whole Red Tornado thing taught me not to squeeze too hard on the bottle unless I want to be useless for a while.

 

…And here’s Clark, sawing through robots with seemingly limitless energy to draw from, even at night.

 

Ah, let it go, Kara. Your cousin’s got a good twenty-some years of sunlight on you. Oak tree; sapling. There’s a difference. 

 

My second is over, and I switch gears to rescue operations, pulling people out of the way and redirecting falling debris. This is, of course, the real reason Clark asked for my help tonight. Even Superman can’t do everything at once, and I’m not so proud that I won’t sidekick for my cousin when he needs it.

 

Despite running down my energy, the robots aren’t terribly dangerous. They’re just enough of a problem that we can’t ignore them, which leads to the obvious conclusion: This is a diversion. While we’re over Midtown Metropolis deal with the attack, there’s probably a theft or network hack going on in Little Bohemia or City Hall. You could compare it to a magician’s sleight-of-hand, redirecting our focus away from the actual trick. 

 

J’onn would call it what it truly was: A fork. In chess, a fork would be placing two pieces in danger, forcing your opponent to choose which he will sacrifice. The choice is predictable based on what the pieces are – the more valuable piece is saved at the expense of the other. 

 

It’s the same here: The people in downtown Metropolis are far more important than what’s being stolen, planted, or whatever. It was never really a choice. I’m sure that Clark called for backup in the hopes that he could free himself up to address the real issue at hand. I wish him luck; I’m not sticking around for the ‘Lex Luthor Show.’

 

It takes another five minutes for Clark to work his way through the robots. I soak up the thanks and goodwill of the people I help, making sure to slow down and pose just a bit for the CatTV crew that’s on scene. It’s only fair – I know that Clark will ham it up for the Daily Planet, after all. That said, I avoid getting too close. Unlike Clark, I won’t swoop down and answer media questions.

 

Once the Metropolis Science Police show up in their own high-tech armour, I shout a Kryptonian farewell to Clark and fly off, accelerating back towards National City. I want food, a shower, some sleep, and then some morning sunlight before I feel up to tackling my regular work day.

 

Naturally, Alex is already at my apartment by the time I fly through the window.

 

“So, how’d it go?” she asks as she hands me a full pizza box – Rao illuminate you, big sis.

 

“Good. We stopped – oh, God, this is good.” Yay, pizza! Pizza!!

 

“Kara…” 

 

“Sorry.” I swallow quickly. “Anyways, a bunch of robots happened. I took out one, Clark took out the rest, I flew around and rescued people and did damage control.”

 

“That’s it?”

 

“Yeah, that’s it.” I gesture with a pizza slice. “I figure that it was probably a diversion for whatever else Lex Luthor wanted. I honestly wasn’t worried about it.”

 

Alex rolls her eyes at me, but leaves off the questions. She fiddles with the remote and finds a PVR’ed episode of Game of Thrones, and the apartment is quiet save for the show and the sound of sisters munching pizza.

 

I hop into the shower the nanosecond that Alex leaves, washing away the dirt and grime of the fight. Oh, what I wouldn't give for the hypersonic baths of home right about now! Still, a hot shower is just as comfy and soothing to me as anyone else. Five seconds of spinning like a small tornado and I’m dry as can be, my hair straight and fluffy. I dab off any leftover water with a towel and jump straight into my PJ’s. It’s sleepy-time!

 

ooOOOoo

 

As the news coverage of the attack on Metropolis rolls mutely, a man deep within Lord Technologies dials a phone number with a smile. 

 

To his right, the disassembled Reactron armor sits plugged into several monitors. 

 

“Hello, Mr. Luthor. I’m calling on behalf of Maxwell Lord, and I’m hoping to cash in on some spare parts you might have for sale…”

 

ooOOOoo

 

Getting to work in the morning is always a rat race. I’m dressed and ready in seconds, glasses safely on my face, then I’m waiting for the bus at the corner, stopping at the coffee shop for Cat, power walking the last block, squeezing into the elevator, piling out to get to my desk, booting up the computer, opening my email, grabbing my tablet; all the while receiving constant updates and new requests from Cat, who feels the need to text me nonstop while she makes her way to work.

 

Nuts, right?

 

So I hope everyone’s okay with the fact that I make sure I’m first in line at the bus stop, fastest into the coffee shop off the bus, always able to squeeze into an elevator, no matter how painful it might be for the guy at the back, and just a little faster than acceptable when dealing with computers.

 

All this makes it so that I look like the epitome of perfection by the time Cat steps off her personal elevator and stalks over. 

 

Without so much as a hello, she snatches the latte from my desk and walks into her office. Right – I’d almost forgotten that she still had it out for me because of Adam. It hurts, too – there’s a little sting, dead centre of my heart, and I don't know what I can do to fix it. 

 

What was I supposed to have done, though? Keep going out with him? Make him a target for Maxwell Lord? Lie to him every five minutes when I need to be Supergirl? Because make no mistake: I chose to be Supergirl. That, to me, means that I chose that a lot of other everyday things, like a boyfriend, weren’t really in my cards. Sure, there’s James, but he’s … unavailable. There’s Winn, but I’m not feeling the attraction; and isn’t that a damn shame? Because let me tell you, being attracted to someone who’s also a close friend and in-the-know about Supergirl would be a miracle right about now.

 

But—

 

The elevator opens, and out walks someone who, despite their confident gait, screams ‘assistant.’ Assistant to whom? She’s quite pretty, brown shoulder-length hair, a nice black-and-white patterned blouse, and a dark skirt. A little more daring than me, but still tasteful.

 

She’s walking straight towards me – sorry, straight towards Cat’s office. Cat looks up at her –

 

—and catches my eye—

 

—and smiles this little, cruel smile—

  

I’m out of my seat just as the new girl walks by, and we’re stepping into Cat’s office together. 

 

“I don’t recall asking for you, Kiera,” Cat drawls, my name especially biting. “But since you’re here, let me introduce you to Siobhan Smythe, my second assistant.”

 

Second assistant.

 

Second.

 

Assistant.

 

What?

 

I need to be calm. I need – 

 

But I’m not calm. I’m angry. It starts small, Cat’s words flowing past me without really being heard. The little flame in my stomach sparks and grows, the tongues of flame reaching up towards my heart. Jealousy? Betrayal? Whatever – it hurts.

 

“Miss Smythe,” I say, loud enough to interrupt Cat. “Please step outside the office. Miss Grant and I need to talk.”

 

“I’m sorry, _Kiera_. Did I imply—”

 

“Now, please.”

 

I’m already moving forward. This is going to get me fired, but I don’t care. I’ve bent over backwards for this woman, brought her Rao-cursed son back to her, and this is what I get?!

 

Siobhan makes no real move to leave, but I’ve got my arm around Cat’s bicep and I’m dragging her towards the balcony. I give the new girl a pointed look as I open the doors, and shove my boss through.

 

“What the hell do you think you’re doing!” Cat snarls as she spins to face me. “If you think that manhandling me—”

 

“Shut up, Cat.”

 

“Excuse me?”

 

“SHUT. UP. CAT.”

 

Cat is apoplectic. My stomach’s doing all kinds of flips. But I can’t stop myself. It’s like a bull and a red cape – I know that’s not exactly a true thing, but it’s exactly what I feel like. This … _bitch_ … pushed my buttons and I know I have to stop myself, but my mouth is opening and please, please Rao don’t let my eyes ignite, I’m so mad…

 

“I have slaved for you above and beyond my stupid job requirements for three years now, Cat. This is the thanks I get? I get to train my replacement?!”

 

“She—!”

 

“Fuck you, Cat.”

 

“Now, you listen—!”

 

“No, I’m not done.” Rao … God, she’s so angry. I’m so angry. I can’t control my stupid mouth, and my stupid emotions, and I feel like I’m crammed into this small, tiny corner of my self watching while I self destruct in front of my boss. 

 

“I can’t possibly convince you about how much work I save you, how far out of my way I go for you every – single – fucking – day. So I won’t. If you can’t see it by now, you’re hopeless.” I let her go, shoving her away from me. She stumbles a bit, but doesn’t fall, thank Rao.

 

“I’m taking today off,” I announce. “Tomorrow, when I get here … If she’s here, I’m gone. More than that, if I go, I expect a several copies of a glowing reference letter written and signed by you to reach me by mail, including one by email.”

 

“Oh, really?”

 

“If you don’t, I’ll get my next job with every single little thing I know about you, Cat. I’ll tear you down if I have to.”

 

Cat gives me this … look. This vile, evil look. “You have no idea who you’re playing with, little girl.”

 

Stop talking, Kara, stop talking!

 

“Sure I do. It’s you who don’t know, Cat. Don’t you remember? I’m Supergirl.” I actually take my glasses off – Ugh! NO! But Cat reacts like I slapped her, which was the point. 

 

Now I’m off, stalking out of the office, shutting down my computer, grabbing my bag, and out towards the elevators. Siobhan’s smirking at me from across the floor, but I couldn’t possibly care less.

 

Tears begin to form before the elevator doors finish closing. I manage to hold in a sob until I’m a few floors down. Sweet Rao, what have I done?!

 

I grit my teeth and force deep breaths to get my crying under control. As soon as I can see clearly again, I start texting Winn at a furious pace. I made some disgusting threats that make me feel ugly and dirty, but I said the words – those stupid words – because I couldn’t keep my temper and now I have to be able to follow through.

 

_Me: I need a BIG favour._

 

_W: Sure. Anything._

 

_Me: I need everything you can get me to blackmail Cat. Every single thing, no matter how small._

 

I gnaw at my lip and wipe away my tear tracks while I wait. The elevator springs open and I'm halfway out the front door before my phone buzzes with a reply.

 

_W: K, what’s going on? C’s super-pissed, screaming at everyone. Where are you?_

 

_K: I had a fight with Cat. I might be quitting tomorrow. I might be fired today._

 

_W: Serious?_

 

_K: Yes. I said awful things, but I need to be able to back up my threat. I know stuff, but not enough. Help, please?_

 

I’m two blocks down before the next reply.

 

_W: Okay. I’ll email you everything I can find._

 

_K: Thank you!_

 

_W: You owe me. BIG._

 

Boy, do I ever. 

 

One more block, and I find an alley that has no people or surveillance. In less than a second, I’m changed into my red and blues, and flying off towards my place—

 

No. No, that won’t do. Towards the DEO. Maybe Alex has some time to spar, or at least talk for a bit. God-God-God-God-God, I dragged Cat like a rag doll, I practically outed myself in front of her! It’ll be a miracle if she doesn't suspect me again!

 

It’ll be a miracle if I have a job tomorrow.

 

Come on, universe: Give me a miracle.

 

ooOOOoo

 

Sweat pours down my face as Alex and I circle each other, trading punches and kicks. Under the green glow of Kryptonite, I’m still a bit stronger than my sister, but that pales in the face of her superior skill. I’ve improved leaps and bounds working with her. It’s all free-sparring with us; I already know the moves; I just need practice.

 

It’s also such a wonderful release from the morning’s drama.

 

We hit the showers after 10 rounds. Even with her being lenient, I won maybe three. It still makes me happy, because that’s three more than I’d have won earlier this year.

 

“So, are you ready to talk?” Alex asks as weary ourselves off.

 

“I guess.” I shrug, and break eye contact. I can’t help but feel ashamed of myself. I absolutely did _not_ intend to start open warfare with Cat. I don’t know how to fix it.

 

“Well…?”

 

“I got mad at Cat. She hired another assistant, and I lost it.”

 

“Okay…?”

 

“I really lost it. Like … Threatened to blackmail her, lost it.”

 

“Oh, Kara.” There’s more than a little exasperation in her voice, but Alex grabs me into a tight hug, which is just what I need. 

 

Yup, I'm crying again.

 

“Everything’s so stupid! First the thing with Adam, now Cat hates me because I hurt him, so she’s hurting me, and then this girl comes in and Cat says she’s a second assistant, and I – I, I just got so _mad_ , Alex! Everything I’ve done for her means _nothing!_ I – why, why doesn’t she get that I care about her? Why doesn’t she care about me? Why…?”

 

Alex rocks me back and forth as she whispers soothing noises. I can’t stop the sobs, and don’t know if I want to. My last words echo in my head over and over and over.

 

I care about her. About Cat. Why doesn’t she care about me?

 

That would be what Cat calls the ‘anger behind the anger,’ or maybe the despair behind the anger in this case. Cat means the world to me. I cherish our time as boss and employee; I delight in every single second she spares me for personal attention and few, treasured evenings where work kind of turns into sharing and bonding. Now all of that’s gone, and I don’t know how to get it back. 

 

Everything that succeeds takes risks.

 

I nearly snort as Cat’s words come back to me. Well, this was the wrong kind of risk to take. 

 

“You deserve so much better than that woman,” Alex said as she loosens her grip. “We can help find you something else, you know. Even working here, with me.”

 

Alex looks so hopeful that it’s hard to answer. I can’t though, and I eventually shake my head. “I’d love to work with you, but I … I want to fix this, if I can.”

 

“Well,” she sighs, “you know what you need to do, then. Suck it up, Supergirl, and start with the apologies.” She smirks before leaving. “Maybe she won’t have you grovelling the rest of the year, who knows?”

 

Yeah. Right.

 

ooOOOoo

 

I’m home and hidden in a blanket fortress on my bed before I dare look at my phone. Winn came through big time – there’s like, fifteen emails from him with stuff I’ll never repeat to anyone. Part of me breathes a sigh of relief that I have that, but most of me just wants everything to go away.

 

To go back to normal.

 

My hands shake as I write my text message. I’m not Supergirl right now, writing these desperate words to Cat. I’m Kara, the little girl who lost everything and keeps reaching out to people for love. 

 

I want Cat to love me.

 

I hurt her with words that should have never been spoken.

 

_Me: I’m sorry. I hurt you. I shouldn’t have said those things._

 

There’s no response, but I guess I didn’t expect one. I’m not done, though.

 

_Me: I worked so hard for you because I cared about you. I still care about you._

 

I can barely write the last message, tears stinging my eyes again as I try to make the words properly, so they don’t get autocorrected to hell. I feel so weak, so small, reaching out like this. But I need to risk it to succeed, right?

 

I hope I’m right.

 

_Me: Why don’t you care about me? I miss you._

 

ooOOOoo

 

Piles of papers clutter her desk and obscure her view, but Cat can’t allow herself to stop. Her ‘assistant,’ that cheap, vile, traitorous bitch threatened her, and maybe even Carter. She needs to act first, with whatever she can find. 

 

Which isn't much. 

 

She pops M&M’s into her mouth non-stop, her foot bouncing up and down so fiercely her desk vibrates to it. 

 

“Did you need something, Miss Grant?”

 

“No, Shelly,” she snaps. “I’ll call you if I need you.”

 

Siobhan nods politely and steps back out of the office. Cat grits her teeth and refrains from saying anything more. The urge to fire her out of spite is extremely high. She’s all wrong anyways, she’s too serious, too dark, her hair’s not blonde, she’s—

 

Not Kara. 

 

She’s not Kara. Kara isn’t coming back. Her favourite person in this entire building isn’t coming back, because of her. She backed the gentlest, happiest human being she’d ever met into a corner so tightly that Kara had no choice but to lash out at her.

 

She bites down hard on the arm of her glasses, trying not to cry. This was her fault. She should call – 

 

No. 

 

But just a text—

 

No. She can’t be weak. She can't back down from this ... this attack. Those horrible, hateful words…

 

Her phone buzzes, and she grabs it immediately, heart in her mouth. Please, let it be—

 

_Assistant 1: I’m sorry. I hurt you. I shouldn't have said those things._

 

The crushing weight around her heart eases, and Cat straightens her shoulders, taking her first real breath of air in hours. She begins to text immediately, trying to sound appropriately furious while still leaving the door open for conciliation. She stops halfway through, staring at the words ‘Assistant 1.’ 

 

She’s already renamed her. Renamed Kara. She forgot.

 

The text message sits abandoned while Cat quickly rectifies this. Just as she hits ‘save,’ her phone buzzes in her hands again. She nearly drops it.

 

_Kara: I worked so hard for you because I care about you. I still do._

 

Her hands quiver as the adrenaline and panic slowly seep from her body. There is no threat, none. There is just a hurt, scared young woman on the other side of this phone, and she can deal with that. She goes back to the text message, deleting most of it and starting again. Gentler words, still firm, but less anger. She can do this. She—

 

Her phone buzzes again.

 

_Kara: Why don’t you care about me? I miss you._

 

She deletes the text again, blinking away the moisture in her eyes as she types something much, much simpler.

 

ooOOOoo

 

I’m scared to look at my phone. I hope it’s Winn, or anyone else. I don’t want to see the angry message I know will be there, but I have to look.

 

And I see a miracle.

 

_Cat: I miss you, too. Meet me at the office at 7, we’ll go for drinks. We need to talk._

**Author's Note:**

> Took the chapter a bit longer to avoid the angsty cliffhanger. You're welcome. Thanks for reading! Feedback is always appreciated!


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